Soňa and children
by Richard Pupala
from the short story collection Women As Well As Men, Animals
Translated from Slovak by Julia and Peter Sherwood
She was tempted to reach out and touch Peter’s handsome face. Just as she confirmed her first impression of seeing him after a long time – yes, he had put on some weight but given what they’d been through individually and together there was no trace of guilt in his smile – she was distracted by a child crying.
A little girl scrambled to her feet; she may have been about four and no one was coming to her rescue. Soňa watched the wailing girl crunch through the gravel and make her way among the tables on the crowded terrace of the brewery towards three adults – two women and a bearded man – and a few other children. The indifference with which they awaited the little girl’s return took her aback, as did the fact that no one picked her up to give her a hug once she reached them, as she would have done, and tucked her little blonde head, sweaty with sorrow, under her chin.
“This dress really suits you,” said Peter and Igor laid an appreciative hand on his shoulder. “My wife does look lovely, doesn’t she?”
It seemed to her that when one man touched another, there was something comforting about the ease of this gesture; by comparison, over the years in the common room she had noticed that a woman was more likely to touch something she wore or owned rather than another woman.
“This is the first time I’ve worn it,” she said as Peter tilted his head towards the treetops above. “Something has dropped on me.”
“You must be imagining it. No rain forecast for today.” And flashing a roguish smile at his wife, Igor added: “Or maybe you’ve been blessed by a bird.”
This smile never failed to unsettle her.
Choosing the airy light-green dress with its little floral pattern was an act of defiance against the dictates of dark colours; as it happened, the dress had ended up languishing in her wardrobe for over a year. It was short-sleeved and when she was buying it her forearms were already itchy. The rash of tiny red dots also appeared on her legs. It quickly spread to her arms, hips and back. She helped it along by scratching. Without a detailed examination, the doctor, an unexpectedly elderly and, as she soon discovered, extremely disgruntled woman who typed up Soňa’s medical history with two fingers on a typewriter, stated that she was afflicted by chronic hives. Quite a common ailment in women her age. It was to do with the immune system and in her case had presumably been brought on by stress. When Soňa said that her daughter had been killed in a car accident, the doctor looked up; this piece of information was the first thing deserving of her full attention. She stared at Soňa, rubbing her hands dotted with liver spots. Her interest faded instantly. She returned to her typewriter which seemed to epitomise her protest against the present.
Soňa thought the word stress sounded feeble and trivial. It barely scraped the surface of what she was going through.
She scratched until she drew blood. She couldn't control the urge, ploughing her nails into her skin even while she slept. She no longer left the house. Her skin, covered in scabs, seemed to itch from the inside. If she could, she would have ripped it off her bones like orange peel. She spent entire days on the sofa under a blanket. Her life was concentrated in her fingers, restless and filled with anger. Igor would cut her nails. He'd sit patiently by her side, considerate to the point of unbearability and addressing her in hushed tones. Only once did he lose control. He exploded, bursting into tears and warning her that he would glue mittens to her hands. The only thing that helped was strong steroid creams. And time.
Peter did his best. It was his idea for them to go to the allotment on the anniversary of the accident, taking the urn with her ashes in it. The idea had also occurred to Soňa, but it was Peter who put it into words in her stead. They spent the weekend reminiscing over wine, drowning their sorrows. By Sunday all three of them knew that they would be back in a year’s time. They made this promise to each other as well as to Zuzana.
“Seems you were right, mate,” said Igor, finishing his beer. “It wasn’t a bird.”
Soon Soňa also felt the first drops. They stayed on the terrace for a while. Igor, who fought back against the loss of his daughter with an unremitting optimism, insisted that it was not going to rain and if it did, it would be just a brief shower. It would be a shame to lose their nice place under the tree. He signalled to the waiter, ordered another round of wheat beers, and the skies burst open.
They raced indoors, completely drenched. The waiter brought their beers into a banqueting room they opened to accommodate as many guests from the terrace as possible and the smallish room filled with noise and commotion.
Igor rumpled his damp hair. “Well, that was quite refreshing, eh?” The dress clung to Soňa’s body and the music that exploded without warning from a speaker by her head made her start.
She was about to suggest that they move to another table when a bunch of yelling children barged into the room as the advance party of three grown-ups who took the remaining free seats at the table next to them. The little girl who had fallen earlier was demanding strawberry juice, wailing like a broken record player until a rather big woman with untidy hair casually held together with a clip explained, in a seemingly calm voice and stressing every word, that if she repeated what she wanted one more time, there would be no juice and no chips either, before taking a toddler from the arms of the bearded man. The toddler clambered into her lap grumpily. It was the biggest toddler Soňa had ever seen.
There were two more boys in the group. The other woman, slim and with short hair, pulled up the sweatpants of the younger boy, who was about the same age as the little girl. Soňa was riveted by the tattoos on her forearms; she thought this was what lesbians looked like. The third child was a boy, apparently of school age. The bearded man, evidently his father, handed him a mobile.
“You’re going to share it with the little ones, understood?”
The boy lowered his head to the screen and his father grabbed him by the hand.
“Heard what I said, Artur?”
“OK.”
The man loosened his grip and Artur shot off, with the little ones in pursuit, suddenly changing direction and nearly colliding with the waiter.
“Congratulations, mate! Did you hear that?”
Soňa looked at Igor.
“He got the job at the institute,” he said, giving Peter a thump on the back.
“Oh, wonderful!” Soňa said. “When are you starting?”
She thought he said next month, though his words were drowned by the screaming of the children running past. The younger boy bumped into Soňa’s chair, lost his balance but didn’t fall; a chubby hand landed on their table with a smack, right next to a beer glass.
“That calls for a celebration, and a proper one!” said Igor as he glanced first at Peter, then at his wife, arching his eyebrows provocatively and raising them twice. “Let’s have some bubbly.”
Peter nodded but a moment’s hesitation didn’t escape Soňa’s attention.
Igor called the waiter. “A bottle of bubbly, please.”
“Champagne?”
“If that’s what you call it,” he said with a wink at Peter.
“Three glasses?” checked the waiter.
“Would you mind turning the music down?” Soňa asked. “It’s terribly noisy in here.”
“I’m sorry,” said the waiter, nimbly avoiding the children as he left.
“Artur!” the larger mum yelled over to the far corner of the room where the children were fighting for the mobile, as she drew her head away from the toddler who had decided to deprive her of her hairclip. She had a deep, practiced voice and didn’t care that other people in the room turned their heads towards her. “Bring it over here!”
Artur strategically let a younger boy take the mobile. The little girl, unhappy about his choice, poked the little boy in the ear.
“I can’t hear myself talk,” Soňa said, catching the bearded dad’s gaze.
“We’ll speak more loudly,” said Igor.
“I have something to tell you.”
“You have more news, mate?”
Peter leaned over the table and this time Soňa caught every word. He wasn’t going to come to the allotment with them this year.
He seemed devastated. “I have to spend the whole of August on a research trip to Manchester, my institute has a joint project with the university there,” he explained, addressing Soňa and Igor by turns. “And they’ve planned a trip to Scotland for us on the second weekend.” Igor clutched his beer glass, then let go of it again. “I tried to see if I could get out of it and make a quick trip back that weekend, but…” said Peter, shaking his head with a sigh. “I’m so sorry.”
After a while Igor nodded. “Don’t worry,” he said, giving Peter an understanding smile. “You’ll come when you can.”
When will that be? flashed through Soňa’s mind, as she pictured the second anniversary at the allotment: Igor, herself and Zuzana’s ashes.
“Oh well,” said Igor and got up. “Time to drain the snake. Be right back.” He pulled a face to suggest that he hoped he would make it and scurried off.
“I’m really truly sorry,” Peter repeated as if Soňa needed to hear it one more time, on her own. And that’s when it struck her, with absolute certainty.
“You’ve got someone.”
Peter froze.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
He opened his mouth and nodded feebly after a short pause.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Instead of answering he covered his face with his hands. Soňa looked at his long, slender fingers and waited for him to crawl out of his hiding place and look at her again.
“I was going to…”
“When?”
He took a sip of beer to avoid looking her in the eye. Then he glanced towards the door as if waiting to be rescued and her mind was made up.
“She was going to break up with you.”
His face distended as if he’d received a slap.
“Did you know that?”
“Why are you telling me about it?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “To make it easier for you?...” And she added: “Igor didn’t want me to tell you.”
“We did have some problems, doesn't everyone, but…. I loved her.”
“She wasn’t so sure about that. That’s why she drank some wine that night and didn’t want to stay at our place. She didn’t listen to me. She went to see you.”
“That wasn’t fair, Soňa.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
She sensed someone was close and when she turned her head, she saw the little girl standing next to her, looming over the mobile.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
The little girl looked up as if the strange lady had just materialized before her. “Sophie,” the little voice rang out, and all of a sudden, Artur appeared and yanked the mobile out of her hand.
“Give it back to her!” Soňa yelled and all three adult faces immersed in a conversation at the next table turned to her.
“That’s enough!” said the bearded dad as he got up and took the mobile away from Artur, glowering at Soňa.
Igor came back to their table, rubbing his hands: “It’s on its way…” He was followed by the waiter, who placed a bottle of bubbly and three glasses on the table.
“I think we’re done with the beer,” said Igor, checking with Soňa and Peter. Seeing them nod and making sure they would pay for the unfinished beers, the waiter put the glasses on his tray and left.
“What’s holding you back? Get on with it, mate!”
Peter opened the bottle, taking care that the cork didn’t explode and poured the champagne with Soňa watching him the whole time. She was trying to catch his eye.
“What are we drinking to?” Igor asked.
“To new beginnings,” she proposed and Peter threw her a quick glance.
“Great! May they be successful, these new beginnings…”
They clinked glasses.
“By the way,” said Soňa after taking a sip. “Peter has a new girlfriend.”
Igor’s hand holding the glass sank. “Well, well,” he exhaled and forgot to smile as he said it.
“That’s right.” Peter nodded. “Her name is Lucia and she’s a colleague of mine. A future colleague…”
“How long have you been together?” she asked.
“Around three months.”
“Quite a while,” she said.
Igor took a deep breath, then exhaled and patted Peter’s hand, which made Soňa feel like banging her fist down on that understanding hand of his.
“Can we see her?” she asked, trying to make it sound casual. “Is that all right?” she looked at Igor and then at Peter again. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a picture of her.” As Igor’s eyes were also on him now, Peter reached into his trouser pocket for his mobile. He found a photo and passed the mobile to Igor, giving Soňa a hard look.
“She’s pretty,” said Igor with a nod and sadness in his voice. As he passed the mobile to Soňa, she paused. She hadn’t thought this through, she didn’t really want to see Peter’s pretty new girlfriend. She heard Sophie shriek about needing a pee. She took the mobile and there was a brunette with a dog, a golden retriever, smiling at her.
She handed the mobile back to Peter a bit more forcefully than the game she’d begun called for.
Just then several things happened all at the same time at the next table. Artur reappeared, bounding into Soňa’s field of vision. The waiter was putting plates of chips down on the table, while the large toddler, squirming about in his mother’s arms, knocked over a glass of juice. Artur gave out an order: “Follow me!” and the mum with tattooed forearms burst into tears. As Soňa looked at the designs on the hands covering her face, she felt the prick of tiny needles.
“Hang on,” said the mother with the hairclip, poking a finger in front of the waiter’s face and reaching across the table to pass the toddler to his father. She produced a packet of paper tissues from her handbag and offered one to the tattooed mum. Then she turned to Artur: “Take Sophie to the toilet. The ladies, understand?” She folded the still-dry half of the tablecloth on the dry part of the table and moved the glasses over to that area, assisted by the bearded dad in what looked like a well rehearsed act. She lifted the rest of the tablecloth and used it to mop up the spilt juice. The waiter put down the plates of chips and was given the bunched up tablecloth in exchange. The tattooed woman blew her nose. The smaller boy earnestly watched his despondent mother being comforted by the bearded man. The mum with the hairclip dried the table with paper tissues. She took the boy by the hand and sat him on a chair next to her. “Have some chips,” she said, pushing a plate towards him.
“Keputch,” said the boy and the mum with the hairclip pushed a bowl of ketchup towards him.
The tiny needles ran down Soňa’s body; at the same time, she felt a strong need to find her bearings, slow down the chaotic whirlpool swirling around her.
The boy dipped a chip in the ketchup.
She couldn’t hear everything they were talking about but once she focused, she worked out that the bearded man and the tattooed woman were brother and sister.
The mum with the hairclip leaned over to her sister-in-law and took her by the hand. “He’s an idiot.” She looked at the boy next to her, but he was concentrating on his food, his nose smeared with ketchup.
“I can have a word with him if you like,” the bearded dad suggested to his sister. “Or beat the shit out of him.”
The mother of his children waved him away dismissively.
The tattoed mother sniffled and shook her head. “I don’t want to see him.” She reached for another tissue.
Peter was showing Igor something on his mobile.
“He’ll come back on his knees,” Soňa heard the mum with the hairclip say. The whirlpool continued to swirl. The waiter brought a fresh tablecloth. Sophie stopped in the doorway with her knickers around her knees. Leaning against the doorframe with one hand, she was lifting the hem of her dress with the other. The tattooed woman was the first of the threesome to notice her. “Look,” she said, nodding towards the door. Sophie’s mum turned around. “Good grief!” She ran up to her daughter, bent down and pulled her knickers up. “You can’t walk around like that, sweetie! Where’s Artur?”
The bearded dad got up with the toddler in his arms and went out into the corridor.
The sisters-in-law shared a laugh and Sophie tucked into her chips.
Soňa felt someone touching her. Igor took hold of her forearm and gave her a serious, warning look. “Don’t do that, darling, please. Don’t scratch.” And she caught Peter’s eyes and turned away. The bearded dad was back.
“He’s chatted up an elderly gentleman.”
“Just don’t let him stay there too long,” said the mother with the hairclip.
The little boy shoved a chip up his nose. Sophie burst out laughing. “Are you crazy?” said his mum, removing the chip with a tattooed hand.
“He’s better with grown-ups,” the mum with the hairclip added.
“Does he still wander around the flat at night?”
“He does,” said her brother.
The big toddler had fallen asleep in his arms, one hand propped against his chest.
Soňa got up.
“Where are you going?” asked Igor.
She didn’t reply. She could now feel the needles everywhere, pricking her under the skin. There was no one in the toilets. She bent down to check the cubicles just in case. She badly needed to scratch herself, properly, with all ten fingers. On her legs and everywhere under the damp dress; if she could, she would rip it off. As she straightened up after relieving the itch on her calves to move on to her neck, she caught her own eyes in the mirror above the basin. Her hair was out of shape, flattened by the rain. She was looking at an old, desolate woman scratching herself in a toilet and felt the desire to turn back time; it was coming from inside where there was no itching and everything was soft and warm. She wished she could be a little girl again, brand new. At that moment the door opened.
Artur stood in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” she said, her voice cracking.
He stared at her without saying a word and she realized that one of his eyes was lower than the other. She had not seen him like this before as he’d been constantly in motion or bent above the mobile. Now he wasn’t moving and emanated an unknown menace.
“Get out. This is not your toilet.”
He kept staring at her unwaveringly as if he had a plan: as if he wanted to imprison her. She had to pluck up the courage to move towards the door. “Scram, do you hear me?” She had to raise her voice.
And she had to bend down: grabbing hold of his neck she shook him in terror. The boy started to scream. He must have dug his nails into her: later at home she found little half-moons imprinted in her forearm.
The bearded dad thrust the sleeping toddler into its mum’s arms. As he leapt up from his chair, it made a noise and soon the guests in the banqueting room heard his rough voice as he shouted: “What on earth are you doing?!”
Igor heard Soňa’s voice and dashed out following the mum with the toddler. He saw the dad pick up his son from the floor and Soňa kneeling – inexplicably – next to him on the ground, mouth open and head shaking. Several people came into the corridor from the banqueting room and the main hall.
Igor helped Soňa back to her feet. Artur’s mum was comforting him; the boy was in her husband’s arms, tucked under his chin, the three of them forming a sculptural group.
“She was giving him a thrashing, the horrible old bitch!”
“Please, please…” Igor held his wife’s hand and gazed at the dad who stood propping up the sculptural group, feet wide apart; Soňa turned around to look at the wall of faces surrounding her as if she wanted to count them – or understand them.
“He wouldn’t let go of me,” she squeaked; no one but Igor could hear her.
“How can you beat a child, for God’s sake!” The outraged mum with the hairclip seemed to be on the verge of tears and the toddler patted her on the cheek.
The faces around Soňa, the curious ones as well as those who were shocked, gradually turned expressionless as if something had switched them off, all but one that remained unforgivingly distinct. She had to flee from Peter’s gaze into the only arms that remained for her.
Richard Pupala studied journalism at Comenius University and scriptwriting at the Academy of Performing Arts in Bratislava. To provide for his family while studying, he worked as barman, on the staff of several weeklies and, for two years, as copywriter with the Monarch agency. Currently he freelances as a scriptwriter and dramaturg with various production and TV companies. He and his wife live in the Petržalka district of Bratislava. In 2007 he won the short story competition “Poviedka”, publishing his first book, Návštevy (Visits), in 2014. His collection of spooky short stories, Čierny zošit (The Black Notebook), appeared in 2017, followed in 2020 by Ženy aj muži, zvieratá (Women As Well As Men, Animals), a collection of thirteen short stories. All three books were nominated for Slovakia’s most prestigious literary prize, the Anasoft Litera, with The Black Notebook shortlisted for the René Anasoft Litera (chosen by secondary school students), while Women As Well As Men, Animals made it onto the 2021 Anasoft Litera shortlist. Pupala’s most recent book, Čierny zošit II (The Black Notebook II), was published in October 2023.